


Yearning

by Patatarte



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Post Season 8, Yearning, jon left his heterosexuality behind, our boi wants it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patatarte/pseuds/Patatarte
Summary: Basically : Jon takes some lone time to think about what he wants Tormund to do to him
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 9
Kudos: 97





	Yearning

Jon finishes his meal and stands up from the circle he was seated in. Nobody tries to keep him here, they understand the need to rest. After all, he joined everyone for drinking and laughing for the last couples of days, celebrating the end of the wars.

They are still far from the place Tormund described to Jon, a promise of a new start. They spend most of their day walking, on foot or horses’ back, thinking or listening to joyful conversations. 

Peaceful traveling days like these are always giving too much time to think. Most of the danger passed and everyone seems to think about the future for the first time in too long. Their plans are full of optimism.

Jon is also guilty of thinking too much, grabbing conversations he’s hearing here and there. He doesn’t have anything tied to him anymore, he can start anew ! Well, it isn’t really true, he is part of the free folks since a while now, he cannot deny it. More than that, he has Ghost and Tormund.

Talking about Tormund, Jon tries to ignore his blue gaze checking on him but letting him walk away without a word. The redhead is always near him, days and nights, joking, asking the most random things about his past life, sharing meals and alcohol, reassuring him about his choices, sharing warmth under a tent on the coldest nights. 

Jon wants to say he knows what it all means but truth is : he is a bit lost.

The first time he saw the man, he thought he was seeing the king behind the wall, a tall man with fire around a face made by the gods of survival and ice. But more than that, the first time he saw him, Jon wanted to stay on his knees, taken by strange feelings. 

It wasn’t the time then, but now ? Now, Jon doesn't know what to do. He just wants and wants a lot.

It’s be so much easier if Tormund was as direct as Ygritte was, but he weirdly isn’t. Or Jon just doesn’t get the cue, doesn’t understand when it’s jokes and when it’s not, it’s all so confusing.

The good thing is that tonight Jon gets a small tent for himself and he will use it well.

Ghost ran wherever, probably around the camp to hunt or just enjoy being alone as well and Tormund will not spend the night with him for some reasons Jon didn’t really pay attentions to. No, his mind was too glad to have a night by himself and not have to be too tense whenever Tormund gets too close to him during the night, his warm breath tickling Jon’s neck, his hands grabbing to keep the warmth in between them.

Jon sighs, walks to his tent and closes it shut behind him, making it his own space at last.

He’s thinking about the wild images of his own body dancing above Tormund, trying to please the man like he so often heard men talk about their nights with women. He knows it’s not the same, heard the crude tales of men bedding each others, from disgusted southerners telling lies, to passionate free folks.

With the firsts, Jon never really cared, he wasn’t really interested by it at the time either. He had his tastes, appreciated good looking people but never went further in his mind. But the seconds...Free folks love to talk about satisfying one another, because it’s important for a lot of reasons, from a simple search of warmth to a lifelong search to please someone you love to ease a life of cold surroundings.

As Jon spends hours walking next to free folks proudly exchanging their stories or advices, it becomes harder and harder to control himself, to not have a stupid blush or have his manhood behave inappropriately.

Here, in a tent alone, he can be free to explore his mind and body without further troubles. 

He takes a small flask of oil out of his clothes. Someone gave it to him with knowing eyes and Jon barely wants to think why or how they knew he’d need it. It doesn’t matter much at the moment. He gets quickly naked and slides under the warm pelts, a small fire keeping the place just warm enough.

A small shiver takes him whole and he rubs his arms and legs together, eyes fixed on the tent’s door like it could hold any power to prevent people from entering. Not tonight, he doesn’t need more shame, he is nervous enough.

No matter, Jon doesn’t think he can stop his own fingers from going low on his torso, avoiding his scars, imagining it’s someone else’s fingers, still cold from outside, making him shiver even more, going down and down…Oh, by the gods.

He whines, trying his best not to make too much noises as his body jerks up as cold fingers touch his warm manhood already standing proud. The sensation makes him close his eyes, head rolling. His other hand, not knowing what to do, does scratches with blunt nails, down his neck to his torso, passing over a perked up nipple.

Tormund would probably love sucking on them, he heard him say something close to it. Was it another wild tale about a woman, or a man ? Who knows and who cares, it might be lovely to feel his mouth there, teasing, his beard scratching-

What would his beard feel like ? What kind of kiss would it be ? Would it tickle against his skin, or burn ?

Would it feel nice against his co-

Jon breathes heavily, eyes now open on the ceiling of the small tent. He had to stop himself because the idea of Tormund, so tall and wider than him, head in between his legs- Oh by all the gods looking over the lands, he needs it.

Tormund would smile, his eyes so beautifully expressive, and his face- Oh, he’d smile in a kiss, maybe chaste at first, for the sake of Jon, but then hungry and deep, his tongue trying to invade his mouth, but what is there to invade when you are fully allowed in ? Oh Jon would be so lost, wanting so many things that he’d be paralyzed and silent. He’d let Tormund do anything to him, bites, licks, scratches, soft kisses, sucking-

How would his hand feel around his member ? Would it be rough ?

Jon bites his bottom lip as he bucks into his own hand, panting like the first time he touched himself so many years ago, the mental images flooding his mind. Forcing your body not to react while thinking about those things for so long really just opened the door to a wild reaction now that he can.

He pictures himself in too many of the tales he heard, with Tormund by his sides. He still has a bit of troubles with his place in these situations, but anything pleases him, in theory.

Would Tormund love having him slowly grind on him, or would he prefer Jon under him, trapped, going deep ? Is he a slow person, or a fast one ? 

Jon stops again, frustrated. He doesn’t know what it means to be taken by a man anyways, only heard of it. He still is puzzled by the words one man used to describe it to another. There is so many ways to make love to a man. You could lay behind the other and just...Go between his closed legs, it is said to be the best in these colds lands, the sweetest and easiest. 

But there is also another, one so forbidden in the south. Not everyone likes it but you can only know after trying. The oil is essential there and that is why Jon is now grabbing the flask, nervous, his heart pounding. He heard enough explanations and steps in the dirty talks people are having around him all day to be fine, or so he hopes.

He pours a bit of oil in his palm, warming it while remembering the words of instructions, one by one. He had them in mind for at least a week now, wanted to try and feel… Now is the time, now he must feel, he has to know.

After coating a finger in the oil, he moves, grunting at the uncomfortable angle it has to be, wishing someone was with him, wishing Tormund would hold him and do it to him, all strong and knowing, experienced and smug.

He relaxes, breathing slowly, hearing Tormund’s caring voice in his mind as he teases himself. If Tormund really wants him, he’d be the best man to share his body and soul with.

A slow push and he feels overwhelmed already, mouth open, the sensations so foreign but yet welcome, pushing his desire further. It really isn’t a satisfying angle to do anything but some people enjoy watching that part, maybe Tormund would too ? So Jon tries his best, legs shaking, trying to find a better position, one he imagines Tormund would love. He rolls on his stomach, face almost buried in the pelt, his hair falling on his face. He must look absolutely decadent and would give all to see the redhead’s reaction to it.

Gods, what if he just entered the tent to check on him, to make sure he is alright ? Maybe Jon could keep going under the pelts, unnoticed, his mind going blank as the man realizes what is going on…

Nnh…

He goes a bit deeper, groaning, wishing to have the man with him. He is awkward but doesn’t care, the brushing feels so damn good against his member, his finger doing a weird but enjoyable work down here as well - Why is it even frowned upon ? Are people so desperate to avoid all good things ? 

Whatever.

Tormund could just come in, open the pelts blanket, admire him and take him right here and Jon wouldn’t say anything against it. Jon could be naked and wanting and Tormund fully clothed, not saying a single word with his mouth but all with his eyes, and Jon wouldn’t be against it. He’d need him inside of him, to feel anything he could give, his sweetest, slowest to his most powerful and deep trusts- 

Please.

Jon really doesn’t know what desiring to be under a man that way would make of him, what it’d even mean about him. He doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t want to be a bastard or a leader, he wants to be the sole desire of someone wanting him for who he simply is, without clothes on.

He is filled with such desires.

These last days, he even daydreamed of himself being taken by Tormund while on a horse, like he once saw in a really dirty book in Winterfell. He saw himself being the damn maiden ! What would his ancestors think of him ?

He knows what the free folks think of it, and it’s all he should care about now.

His past life stayed behind the wall, he is now part of another culture, other people. Tormund accepted him as his own kind and Jon needs the man to tell him there is no problem with him, that he is just how life wanted him to be.

He feels that his own company is not going to be enough soon. Gods, he hopes the redhead wants him too.

What if the man has his own tent tonight as well, trying to get out of his head how much he wants to grab Jon’s slim waist, brush his manhood against his behind and just gives in as they lie together ?

He moans a bit harder, biting on the pelts, relentlessly working himself and feeling his muscles burn in this position. It feels good, raw, but how much better would it be to have him instead ? 

He didn’t die and resurrect to be such a coward, he fought and survived wars and he needs Tormund now, needs him to make him feel and, as one of the man he heard say, “make it harder to walk for a couple of days”, all with a smile on his face, satisfied, complete.

In the meantimes he only has himself to fulfil his fantasy.

And by gods, he is lost in it, not really caring if it isn’t how he was raised, how the south wants people to be. He has desires, needs. He cares for Tormund since a great deal of time and knows it’s the same for him. The man is gorgeous, tender and a delight to be around, how bad can that be in the eyes of gods ?

For the moment, gods aren’t even relevant anyways, there is only Tormund and his red hair, blue eyes and white eyelashes, his strong hold and soft lips, only him and the pleasure taking Jon in the pit of his stomach.

He comes undone, gasping, his body still rocking by itself against the pelts.

It is over, too soon. Jon already comes back to his lonely tent, feeling empty and sticky but not sad. He has no regrets at all, he is resolute, doesn’t want to waste more time and forces himself to stand, forces his legs to stop shaking, not caring if he looks absolutely wrecked.

He’s going to find Tormund tonight and that’s it. He is tired of wanting on the side and feeling like he doesn’t deserve anything so he quickly cleans the mess off his stomach, puts his clothes back on and storms out of the tent.

Somewhere around the camp, Ghost howls to the moon to celebrate.


End file.
